


Post "Orison" missing scene

by scullybuck



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Episode: s07e07 Orison, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:33:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23384560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scullybuck/pseuds/scullybuck
Summary: After Scully is once again attacked by Donnie Pfaster and ends up killing him, Mulder takes her back to his place. Tenderness ensues.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 35





	Post "Orison" missing scene

Scully placed the Bible back in its usual place on the trunk at the foot of her bed, where it had been before Donnie Pfaster had hidden it away in a drawer. His evil could not perform its deeds in the presence of light. That was telling. He knew he was evil. Mulder watched her from where he sat on her bed as she grabbed various items from drawers and stuffed them into a black overnight bag she had taken from her closet. She tried to ignore the broken glass as it crunched beneath her feet. She moved slowly but purposefully, focused on her mission. She pulled out one last outfit, something to put on now to replace her pajamas. She absent-mindedly started to undress, completely forgetting Mulder was in the room. He respectfully turned his back, allowing her to change. A couple of minutes later, he heard her zip her bag and take a few steps. “Let’s go,” she wearily sighed.  
She didn’t look up, didn’t want to have to look at her destroyed bedroom, at the blood drops on the floor, at the knotted pair of stockings her hands had been bound with. She couldn’t bear to think about having to clean it all up. She could barely think about anything at all. Nothing was in her head but the same few scenes playing over and over again on a loop. Mulder took her bag and followed her out into the living room. The thick smoke wafting from the bathroom from the dozens of candles being blown out was stifling. There was a large blood stain in the middle of her living room a few feet from the front door. The body had been removed just moments before. Her apartment was still full of police taking pictures and collecting evidence. She didn’t care who was there, didn’t care what happened further. She just knew she needed to get out of there. When she opened the front door and stepped out into the hallway, more glass crunched beneath her feet. She apparently had shot out the hallway light and hadn’t even remembered doing it. In a daze, and not remembering even walking outside, Scully slid into the passenger seat of Mulder’s car parked on the street. He tossed her bag into the backseat and started the engine.  
“Good to go?” he asked, taking another long look at her. She didn’t look back at him. She just nodded her head and stared straight ahead. “Are you hungry, Scully? Want me to pick something up?”  
She didn’t seem to hear him. She was frowning, deep in thought. He just let her be and drove. About twenty minutes later, they arrived at his apartment. Mulder grabbed her bag from the backseat and went around to her side to open her door. She hadn’t even noticed they had arrived.  
“Scully?” she looked up upon hearing her name and stepped out of the car. They climbed the steps in front of Mulder’s apartment, and Scully hadn’t realized she was sore from her ordeal a couple of hours before. She was moving a little slower than usual. The rush of adrenaline and her literal fight for her life had left her exhausted. When they got inside, Mulder led her to his bedroom and put her bag on the bed. “Mulder, I’m not kicking you out of your bed.”  
“I sleep on the couch half the time anyway. You need to rest, Scully.” She was far too exhausted to argue. “Why don’t you get comfortable and I’ll make you some tea.”  
Scully stepped into the bedroom and pushed the door mostly closed. She slipped into some blue satin pajamas and walked back into the living room. She sat on the couch, her legs pulled up under her, her left elbow on the arm, and her chin in her hand. Mulder walked over to her, a mug in hand, and said her name. She was somewhere else. He gently touched her shoulder with one hand and tried to hand her the mug that was in the other, but she immediately jumped, inhaling sharply. Mulder quickly pulled away. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”  
“It’s okay. Sorry, I’m just still pretty jumpy.” She took the tea when he again attempted to hand it to her and thanked him. It was Earl Grey, her favorite. He always seemed to remember those things. The familiar taste and aroma was soothing, and she could feel the heat envelope her like a warm blanket. She hugged the mug to herself with both hands and relished in the comforting sensation as the tea flowed from her mouth to her belly.  
Mulder took his place beside her on the old leather couch. He studied his partner. He was practically staring at her and she didn’t even realize it. He had never seen her like this, so out of touch, so obviously disturbed. The first time they had dealt with Donnie Pfaster, the case had clearly bothered her from the beginning. She had tried not to let on, but he could tell. When the worst case scenario had played out and Pfaster had abducted Scully to take her who knows where to do who knows what to her, Mulder had known she would never completely be the same once he found her. He knew it would do a number on her, and he had been right. He had never before seen her break, had never seen her stoic, professional facade crumble, but crumble it did, right into his arms. It was completely understandable. But she had played it all off this week, tried to tell him she was fine, that she needed to see this case through. He could see feeling that responsibility, feeling the need to have a hand in putting Pfaster away. Scully had always handled any difficulty with clinical detachment and distraction. If she could work, she could cope with anything. It gave her control, kept her mind focused, helped her compartmentalize her emotions.  
But this wasn’t a Scully he had ever dealt with. She wasn’t doing anything, or even pretending to want to. She just stared, a slight frown on her face, a small line between her manicured brows. He was unsure of what to do. He knew she needed to rest soon, but he also knew her mind was whirling at a hundred miles a second. She wouldn’t be able to sleep until he could find a way to slow her thoughts, calm her fears, and alleviate some of her pain. So that became his first priority.  
“Scully?” He wanted to touch her, to put a hand on her back, pull her to him, but he knew she was on edge. She was a ball of nerves, and he didn’t want to do anything that would make her unravel. She didn’t hear him, so he leaned forward, sitting on the edge of the couch, his elbows on his knees, and craned his neck around a bit so he could get her attention. “Scully?” he tried again. It worked, and she somewhat shook her head, pulling herself from a dark corner of her mind.  
“Hmm. Mulder?” she mumbled, as her eyes adjusted and she took a moment to realize where she was and who she was with.  
“Scully…do you feel safe here?” She glanced at him and nodded confidently, leaving no doubt in his mind she was telling the truth. “Good,” he smiled gratefully.  
She took a deep breath and took another sip of her tea. He gingerly touched his fingertips to her wrist, ever so gently attempting to take her hand, silently asking for her permission. She granted it, shifting the mug to her left hand and letting him hold hers inside both of his which he sat on his knee. He couldn’t even see her hand under his, but he could feel its soft skin and delicate bones. He softly rubbed it, never moving too fast or with any amount of roughness. Scully needed calm and quiet and gentleness right now. “Scully, what can I do? If you need to talk, I’m listening. If you just need me to be here…I’m here. Whatever you need.”  
Scully looked over at him, really looked into his face for the first time since this entire ordeal had taken place. She suddenly had no expression on her face. She looked almost neutral, oddly complacent. She looked into his hazel eyes, the right then the left. Her blue eyes roved over his entire face, down his long nose and across his plump lips, to his chin and back up into his eyes, as if she were seeing him for the first time, almost studying him. “You’re doing it,” she stated and weakly pressed her lips together in appreciation. He nodded, understanding. Scully suddenly leaned forward and set her mug on the scuffed up coffee table. She tucked her legs under herself and sighed deeply. Figuring it was going to be a long evening of this, Mulder sat back again and tried to get comfortable, his left arm resting on the back of the couch behind Scully’s head. Scully quietly shifted and ever so gently leaned and placed her head in the hollow between his shoulder and chest. He was caught off guard by the move, but thankful she was showing some sign of reaching out to him. He gingerly ran his fingertips through her hair, tucking it behind her ear, then rested his arm around her, his fingers on her elbow.  
After what seemed like no time at all, her breathing slowed and deepened. He breathed a sigh of relief that she was finally sleeping. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes, sighing, wishing he could somehow take this all away from her, as if through some kind of osmosis he could pull some of the pain away from her into himself. Mulder was almost asleep himself when he felt her wiggle under his arm and slide and shift until her head was in his lap. She was balled up like a cat, her short legs curled up against the arm of the couch, her upper body twisted so she lay on her back, her head across his thigh, her red hair splayed across his lap like a halo surrounding her.  
Mulder looked down at her face, relaxed and at peace for the first time since she got here. She still had some small traces of blood on her face and some scratches. Those scratches made him angry. He was glad Pfaster was dead. He had never been happier to find out someone had died. Despite whatever trauma it had caused her, part of him was glad Scully had been the one to pull the trigger. Some part of him was thankful she got some vengeance. But he knew she didn’t feel the same way.  
Mulder knew he shouldn’t disturb her, but he needed to touch her, to comfort her somehow, even if she was unaware of it. He carefully brushed a few errant strands of fiery hair from her face, letting his fingertips graze the porcelain skin of her forehead. She didn’t stir. She was beautiful. She truly was. But she was beautiful in a way few women were. She was brilliant, and she had a certain grace that was difficult to define. It was about so much more than just her outer appearance. But right now, Mulder was in full appreciation of the view. He admired the contours of her delicate features, the perfect curve of her lips, her neat brows, and the spattering of tiny freckles across the bridge of her nose. Scully was a blessing, one he didn’t feel he deserved, a bright light in his otherwise dark, lonely life. An hour went by, and he couldn’t help but think she can’t be comfortable all contorted the way she was. That, combined with an ever-increasing need to pee, told him he needed to get her to bed. As quietly as he could, he slid out from under her head, easing her down as he pulled his leg free. He stood over her, debating whether to try to carry her or wake her. He decided on carrying her. She was pretty out of it.  
Scully was usually a very light sleeper. On more than one occasion, he had awoken her by the slightest touch of her hair, or even sometimes just by being in the room. But not tonight. He slid his arms under her tiny frame, lifting her even more easily than he thought he would. Scully was petite, but she could hold her own. He never really thought of her as weak or small. But today, she felt tiny, frail, as if he would break her if he weren’t careful. She barely moved, her head lolling a bit until it rested against his shoulder. She mumbled something he couldn’t understand and then started breathing deeply again. He turned sideways to ease her through the door without bumping her into the door frame of his bedroom. He gently laid her on the bed, lifted her feet so he could pull the blanket out from under them, and covered her up. She turned over on her side and quickly got comfortable, her breaths once again falling into the long slow rhythm of sleep. Success.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------  
Mulder heard something; the grey alien in front of him was saying something. It was more of a cry, a whimper, muffled words, none of which he could make out except for his name. The voice was familiar. It wove and braided its way through his dream and back out again. His eyes shot open. Scully. He jumped up from the couch and in two steps he was by the bed clicking on the lamp. Just as the light flooded the room, she sat up, her eyes wide, reaching for him as he did the same to her. He sat on the edge of the bed, one hand on her arm, the other at her neck, his thumb at her jaw. “It was just a dream, Scully, you’re safe, it’s me.” She breathed a sigh of relief, her brow once again furrowed, the line of worry finding its home once again just above her nose. She limply placed her fingertips at his wrist he had near her face, trying to regroup.  
“Is it always going to be like this? Every time I close my eyes?” she whispered, straining to choke back tears. Mulder knew she wasn’t asking because she really wanted him to answer. She knew with time it would get better, that that’s the very advice she would give anyone in a similar situation. The question was more pleading for it not to be like this now, not when she was so tired, not when she needed to rest so badly, not when the last thing she wanted to do was to have a nightmare in Mulder’s bed and call out to him like a child afraid of the boogie man and crying for her mother. She suddenly flushed a bit with embarrassment and put her head down, angry with herself for her moment of weakness, angry with that monster for having this kind of control over her still, even when he was dead. “I’m sorry,” she shook her head, not sure what to say. “I’m sorry I woke you, Mulder,” she mumbled.  
“No, Scully, there’s nothing to apologize for… You don’t always have to be strong, you know. It’s just me.” Those last three words he said leaning in a bit, speaking barely above a whisper, and giving her hand a squeeze. Something about the way he said it, the softness in his eyes, the concern on his face, actually did comfort her. What she saw on his face wasn’t pity. Pity she couldn’t abide. What she saw was her Mulder, her partner, who had been through everything with her over the past seven years. He truly just cared and wanted to make her feel better, nothing more, nothing less.  
If Mulder was anything, he was altruistic. There was nothing selfish or prideful in anything he ever did. He was about as honest a person as she had ever met. It wasn’t honesty in the sense that he would never tell a lie. He did do that when the occasion called for it, such as lying his way into a military base, and even then it was ultimately to get to the bottom of some bigger truth. He always had his reasons. His honesty was that of someone who had nothing to hide. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him, Spooky Mulder, whose reputation was basically in the crapper by now anyway, who had no family he really ever saw, no close friends other than she. He was forever the underdog, and she found it endearing. He had nothing to gain by anything he did or said to her other than whatever good it ultimately did her. She knew this in her soul. She loved it about him.  
She suddenly realized that this man cared about so little in life, hardly had any relationships, didn’t care about his career aside from keeping his feet firmly planted in the basement with his beloved X-Files, showed little concern for himself or material possessions beyond basic needs, but if she ever needed him, he came running. He truly cared for hardly anything in this world except for her. She knew in her heart she could ask him for the moon and he’d be investigating ways to lasso it and give it to her with a big shiny red bow on it for her birthday. But she’d never abuse that privilege. And it was a privilege. To have a true, loyal friend of that caliber is a rare gift indeed.  
This realization hit her hard, and she realized what a great responsibility it was. He needed her to need him. It wasn’t about him seeing her as weak or needing to be her knight in shining armor. Mulder was not a man swayed by machismo. He didn’t have enough pride to be. Her happiness was his happiness, pure and simple. This, she thought, was probably in some way unhealthy, bordering on co-dependency. But it seemed to work for them. She decided she was too tired to put up a front any longer, there was no point, and Mulder would see through it anyway. She was going to just tell him what she needed. And she knew he would oblige.  
“Mulder? Will you stay with me?” She looked up at him, imploring him to not question it, to not analyze it. She just needed to not be alone right now. His eyes got big, surprised by her suddenly speaking clearly for the first time since he’d brought her here. He pointed down, at the bed, brows raised, asking if she meant in here, in the bed with her. She nodded in reply.  
“Of course, Scully.”  
He tucked her back in, pulled the covers back up over her, and turned off the lamp. He went around to the other side of the bed and climbed on top of the covers, giving her her space and trying to be a gentleman. He pulled up a spare blanket that was folded at the foot of the bed and covered with it, lying down on his back. He was wide awake now. Squinting his eyes at the clock on the nightstand beside Scully, he could see it was 2:37am. He could barely make out Scully’s face in the dim moonlight that seeped through his window. But as his eyes adjusted to the dark, he saw her roll over to face him, sliding a bit closer to him, the grey light reflecting in her eyes. She had her head in her hand, propped up by her elbow, looking at him, and he rolled as well so he could face her. Her soft voice broke the silence suddenly, and even though he was mere inches from her, it sounded tiny and far away.  
“Mulder… Do you think I’m a murderer?”  
“What?... of course not, Scully.”  
“In the eyes of the law I am,” she nodded affirmatively, swallowing hard.  
“No, it’s more complicated than that. I told you, I’ll explain everything in my report, everything’s going to be fine – “  
But she interrupted him, “I could go to prison for this,” her voice cracked.  
“That’s not going to happen, Scully.”  
“But you had him, Mulder…You had him, and I still…It was like I was watching myself from across the room. From the moment I decided I was not going to let him take me down, I just had a plan in my head. Get out, get my hands free, get my gun, and shoot him. Get loose and shoot, get loose and shoot. I just kept saying it over and over in my head. I was on auto pilot. I heard you break through the door, and I saw you, but I still…”  
Mulder reached out and touched her face, bracing her, trying to emphasize his words, “Scully, you’re an FBI agent. He was a convicted felon who had already abducted and attacked you before. He broke into your home and tried it again…no court in the land would convict you. Don’t think like that, Scully, do you hear me? It’s not going to happen,” he said firmly, looking intently into her eyes.  
She breathed in a ragged deep breath. Several minutes rolled by, and neither of them spoke. Scully resigned herself to the fact that even if she were to get into trouble for all this, there was nothing she could do about it tonight. And Mulder was, as much as she probably would never tell him, usually right about things like this.  
“I’m so tired. I don’t even remember coming in here. This day has been such a nightmare. I wish I could hit fast forward and be as far away from this day as possible.”  
“I wish you could, too, Scully.”  
“While I was in the closet, before I made up my mind I was going to get out, I was thinking about how this was probably it. I was about to die. And if I were, did I have any regrets. And I immediately thought of you.”  
“You have regrets about me?” Mulder asked, surprised.  
“I realized I’ve never told you I appreciate you, never told you how much you mean to me.”  
“Scully, you don’t have to –“ but she cut him off again.  
“Mulder I’m not the best at things like this. I wish I could be like you and just say whatever I’m feeling but it just never has worked for me like that.” She sighed, searching for the right thing to say, for some way to do her feelings justice, to do him justice. She finally gave up with a frustrated huff. “Words are just so inadequate,” she almost whimpered. “I just…” She looked at him, his handsome face highlighted in the moonlight. A single tear snuck down her cheek as her face scrunched up a bit, a tender smile on her lips. She slid a bit closer to him and ran her fingers through his soft brown hair, ran her palm over the warm, rough plane of his cheek. The words just never came. Nothing was good enough for him, nothing said it enough or in the right way. She prayed he understood, prayed he knew, prayed he could feel what she was trying to say. She just moved over beside him, as close to him as she could get, buried her face in his chest, and wrapped herself around his arm that was bent between them, his hand folded in the crook of her neck. He draped his other arm over her, and he felt her relax against him.  
Within moments, her breathing once again started to slow, and she began to drift off to sleep. He grinned to himself at the thought that he must be some kind of elixir of sleep for her. But he really just assumed it was a general sense of warmth and safety she needed. But maybe, just maybe - and he allowed himself this beautiful thought before also succumbing to the weight of his own suddenly heavy lids – maybe it was him. Maybe she just needed him, and no other would do, no other would do for either of them. He smiled at the thought. Mulder wove his fingers through her hair, cradling the back of her head as he planted one small kiss on her forehead. She made a tiny sound, the smallest moan, and he wondered if she was still awake enough to feel his lips on her, wondered if she was lost somewhere in that bleary twilight between sleep and awake, but aware enough to still feel the comfort of his arms, knowing she was safe, feeling him surround her. He hoped so. At that moment, he understood what her heart had needed to say, what she so desperately had tried to articulate verbally. Right now, in this moment, he heard her loud and clear. He whispered against the top of her head, not wishing to wake her but still hoping some part of her could hear, “Me, too, Scully.”


End file.
